


You're Just A Lighthouse Nobody Can See

by ArtsyAfrodite



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Gallavich, M/M, Other, Shameless 4x11
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-30
Updated: 2014-04-30
Packaged: 2018-01-21 08:21:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1544099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtsyAfrodite/pseuds/ArtsyAfrodite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He got it right this time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're Just A Lighthouse Nobody Can See

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stitchandrepair](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stitchandrepair/gifts).



> Set during 4x11.

_“Maybe in another life,”_ he thought as he walked briskly against the Chicago cold.  It was fucking freezing.  But inside this church?  It would be way below zero once he entered.  He knew what his ambush would do, but he could care less – or failed to realize even less than that.

Ian burst through the doors, not intentionally, but glad the boom they made upon his arrival got the attention of the individuals around the font.  He walked slowly down the aisle, his stride reminiscent of a blushing bride, but his presence evocative like a fallen angel.  But he was more like the mistress and if he was an angel, his wings were certainly clipped.  He focused his eyes on the individuals that stood, their postures unsteady.  They looked so – devout?  No, not even close.  Everything around the fountain was a dirty little lie, the baby in white the only thing remotely pure and worthy of any sort of blessing.  Even the Priest looked, questionable.  He was probably hiding a flask in his beard for all he knew.

“What is he doing here?” Svetlana asked Mickey as she intently eyed the red head she so adamantly tried to get rid of.  Mickey knew the feeling.  Ian was like that resistant stain you got in your clothes, and no matter how many times you washed it, there it would be still, faded, but there nonetheless.  He didn’t think he would ever be able to wash him out, and maybe he didn’t want to.    

Mickey let out a huff, figuratively biting down on his tongue as he quickly wrapped his head around the most bullshit answer he could muster up.  “The hell should I know?” he replied clearly annoyed.  But he wasn’t sure if he was more annoyed at the way Svetlana questioned him about Ian showing up, or at Ian doing just that – _showing up_.  He couldn’t be so sure, the only thing he remotely cared about in this instant being getting this fucking thing over with already.

Ian leaned forward in the pew, staring at the one thing he wanted more than anything – to be open and honest about his relationship with Mickey.  No hiding.  No living a lie.  He silently prayed for change as he watched, Hail Mary’s getting lost somewhere in his throat _._ And he didn’t believe prayer was even an effective measure.Ian caught hold of Mickey’s blue eyes a few times as he turned nervously while the Priest christened Yevgeny, the look on his face caught somewhere between unease and embarrassment.

The hope for anything remotely promising for him and Mickey disappeared in the sound of the Priest’s voice as he blessed little Yevgeny, the droplets of water and how they slid off of his tiny head back into the fountain and the way Svetlana folded her arms.  It all got sucked away, so yeah, maybe in another life.  Maybe in another life Ian would get what he needed from Mickey without the detours and yield signs, especially if this is what he wanted – to please his father above being true to himself.

Svetlana rocked Yevgeny as he cried, trying to hush him as she shot a death glare at her supposed husband, or “piece of shit,” as she called him.  Mickey could care less, his focus nowhere near her.  All he could see was Ian and the look of hurt painted between the freckles you could barely see anymore.  His stomach turned and somewhere between Svetlana saying, “Let’s go,” and Ian staring at her as she and her friends walked past him, Mickey felt a hopelessness similar to what his “boyfriend” was simultaneously feeling.  He felt stuck.

Mickey walked quickly towards Ian after Svetlana was out of sight, grabbing his jacket he haphazardly tossed when he walked in earlier.  His eyes never left the red head’s.  He fixed his mouth to speak when he got close to him, but before he could get anything out, Ian beat him to it.

“Is this what you really want?” Ian asked.  The question, Mickey wasn’t sure if it was rhetorical or Ian’s way of really trying to piss him off.  Of course this isn’t what he wanted, and Ian knew this.

“What are you doin’ huh?” Mickey asked, deflecting Ian’s question.

“Answer my question.”

“Didn’t I tell you to let me deal with this stupid shit first, before dealin’ with yours?”  Ian dropped his head slightly, a false smile spreading across his lips.

“Is it?”

“You know it isn’t, ok?” Mickey bit back as he began to walk out of the church, Ian on his heels.  “Now can you please go home and we can talk about this later?”  They were outside now, the cold nowhere near causing a chill as the heat that crept around Mickey’s face from anxiety made him miss the sting.  When Ian didn’t answer, he turned, hoping the look on his face would somehow force one out of him.  He knew by now, that wouldn’t really work.  Ian was operating lately on his own terms, walking to a rhythm completely out of sync with everyone else’s.

“Remember what you said earlier,” Ian said as his feet remained planted.  It wasn’t a question.  Mickey rolled his eyes, not in any mood for Ian’s drama.

 

_“Just wondering if we’re a couple or not.”_

_Ian came up behind Mickey, grabbing him by the waist as he forced him to turn around, the realization of his words obviously missed.  Mickey looked at Ian, his lips slightly parted in surprise from Ian’s forwardness before grabbing him by the biceps and tossing him onto the bed.  He straddled him as he looked down at him admiringly, studying his face and how he looked up at him wide-eyed and full of expectation._

_“Of course we are,” Mickey finally answered._

_“A couple that hides?”_

“I remember,” Mickey answered lowly, not wanting to add fuel to Ian’s fire.

“But we’re hiding?”

Mickey sighed, unsure if this conversation, a continuation of the same one earlier, would even go anywhere with Ian today.  “Not talkin’ about this right now.”

“I just need to know how it feels,” Ian continued to press.

“How what feels?”

“Not being seen.”

Mickey paused for a moment, the heaviness of Ian’s words sinking into him like teeth.  He could feel the bite marks forming beneath his skin.  “I’m heading to the Alibi now,” Mickey said, opting to once again dodge Ian’s explicit demands for proof of his feelings for him.  His jaw tightened as he gritted his teeth.  “Like I said, we will deal with this later.”

Ian ran his hand through his hair as he looked _through_ the guy he was apparently in a relationship with.  “I’d take that off first.”

Mickey looked at Ian, confused by his comment.  “The hell are you talkin’ about Ian?”  He let out a long breath, his patience more than paper thin.  Ian was really pushing it.

“The leash around your neck,” Ian spat.  Mickey’s eyes widened as he moved in close to Ian, their faces less than an inch apart.

“You don’t know what the fuck you’re saying, so I’ma let that one slide.”  Mickey’s voice deepened, his tone far from endearing.  Ian raised his eyebrows before knitting them in a frown, showing no signs of backing down.

“You really are your daddy’s best friend.”

And with that said, Ian walked past Mickey, bumping his shoulder.  When he didn’t hear the stomping of Mickey’s boots on the pavement behind him, he turned and motioned with one of his hands.  “So, are you coming to the after party, or what?”  Instant temper change, just like that.

Mickey was too stressed at this point to argue.  He would let Ian have his moods right now and really deal with him later.  He followed the red head through the streets as they made their way to the celebration.  Right now, all he needed to do was make it through the party at the Alibi, and hopefully without incident. 

~~~

Mickey had been wrong more than a few times in his life.  But tonight, he was beyond wrong. 

The Alibi?  Without incident?  Not with Terry, Svetlana _and_ Ian all within such close proximity to each other.  Mickey laughed at the epiphany that so eloquently slapped him in the face at the same time Terry’s fist so brutally connected with it.  _Wishful thinking._ If only he’d kept his mouth shut and his secret just that, a damn secret, he’d be headed back to Ian’s in the next hour or so, unscathed and actually breathing to beg for forgiveness.  And Mickey was okay with that option – anything other than what was currently happening.

Another fist came crashing down into his face, blood spurting out of his nose and mouth as he thought about the catalyst to this whole mess.

 

_“I just wanna let you know that I’m leaving,” Ian said to Mickey as he made his way towards the exit of the Alibi where his jacket hung._

_“K, I’ll see you back at the place,” Mickey responded, relief finally being granted to him._

_“No, don’t,” Ian began as he turned towards Mickey, who was too busy looking around frantically to notice his secret boyfriend was finally at his breaking point.  “We’re done.”_

_The words fell like daggers on Mickey’s ears, panic beginning to settle in his chest as he hurriedly tried to make sense of Ian’s words while simultaneously trying to remain inconspicuous.  “The fuck are you talkin’ about?”  Mickey’s voice remained low._

_“Uh, I don’t have any interest in being a mistress anymore.”  Ian’s voice shook as he spoke._

_“Jesus Christ, when the hell did you get so dramatic?”  Mickey was getting more and more antsy, the feeling of Ian slipping through his fingers becoming more apparent.  He’d just gotten him back.  Ian placed his hands behind his back as he studied the person buried in front of him – because that’s what he was essentially, buried.  The truth was so dead with him, six feet under all the bullshit and façades.  Despite the fact Mickey wasn’t living like this on purpose, Ian still couldn’t continue to wrap his unstable mind around it._

_“When I realized what a pussy you are.”_

A pussy Mickey wasn’t.  In love?  He certainly was.  So he took Ian’s words for what they were and showed him he wasn’t a pussy, but someone who was so tightly bound by years of fear and abuse, and someone who was hopelessly in love.  That’s right, Mickey loved Ian Gallagher so fucking much, he was willing to risk his life for him.  So he said it.

Just like that.

_“I’m fucking gay,”_ was the cause for Terry’s current fit of rage and pounding fists.  It wasn’t Ian’s ultimatum, or his own fear that he would lose the one person he cared most about, again.  It was Terry’s homophobia and hate.  The decision to out himself was his and his only, the pointing of fingers having no place in the situation at hand – that would be a pussy move.  So he threw himself out there, knowing what the outcome would be.  But Mickey could care less at this point, because at least he finally said it and Ian wasn’t _gone._

He was more relieved when Ian came to his rescue, head butting Terry with a force built up from years of torment.  One more hit from his father and Mickey knew he would have been waking up in the hospital the next day.  But Ian jumped on Terry, the look in his green eyes nothing short of rage and mixed with his own relief and a love so strong Mickey could see it, even through the blood that stung his blue eyes.

Before he knew it, it was an all out bar fight; a tete-a-tete of fists and egos bound to get someone killed.  But no one got killed – except maybe the death grip Terry had on Mickey all of his life.  It was finally gone.  His ego was claimed as well as Mickey shouted things he knew would give his father a heart attack.  No holds barred.  Mickey let it all out – literally.  It was like once he began to reveal the most intimate details of him and Ian’s relationship, it all came pouring out.  And it felt better than good.

As he watched his father get hauled off in the police car, shouting obscenities and threats to disown him, he couldn’t help but feel lighter than air.  Mickey could finally breathe, because little did he know he’d been suffocating under the choke hold his father managed to keep on him for longer than he cared to admit.  He sucked in the sweet taste of air, which although mixed with the flavor of iron from the blood, was the best thing he’d ever savored. 

“So, gay huh?” his uncle Ronnie said to him as he smiled, his face screaming _“Not surprised.”_   His cousin followed close behind his uncle, not trying to whisper as he said, “I fucking knew it,” while they walked away from him and Ian.  So what was a secret wasn’t really a secret at all.

As he looked at the reason, _the_ one reason for everything he’d struggled for leaning against the hood of a car as he gripped his sore ribs, Mickey thought he’d never seen anything so beautiful.  Sure, Ian had always been a good looking guy to Mickey, but he could see clearly now and there was something else attached to that smile and the way his green eyes connected with his. 

It was freedom.  And love – all of which Ian sealed with a kiss to the top of his head.  Mickey had never felt anything like it.

And while they were bloodied and bruised almost beyond recognition, at least they were bloodied and bruised, _together_.

~~~ 

He got it right this time.

Fourteen knuckles in the hand.  Eight bones in the wrist. Two arms.  Two eyes.  Two lips.  One direction towards a kiss – _into him._   Everything clicks when transcendence becomes the hands and a look is translated through a touch.  Forgiveness radiates from the palms, and what’s unspoken is pressed through the fingertips.  Every curve of his fingers wrapped around the spaces they were meant to be in.  He didn’t have to speak, just _touch_ , and dammit if his extremities weren’t fucking with him, his feet numb and his hands doing things he didn’t have to think about.   Mickey knew he’d learn to do this right, eventually. 

As he and Ian stood in the shower, their arms wrapped around each other as the warm water beat down on them, washing away more than blood and sweat – it washed away any remaining traces of fear and doubt.  Mickey’s hands traced patterns all over Ian’s body, his fingers making lines in the soap that covered him.  Ian shampooed Mickey’s hair, making circles with his thumbs as he massaged his scalp, his eyes never breaking apart from his.  They stood in silence, words not needed to make the moment.

They dried off together.  They lied down together.  They curled up together.  Mickey placed his head on Ian’s bare chest as one of his legs rested between his thighs, his hand massaging his boyfriend’s sore ribs. 

And if Ian felt a tear fall on his chest while they curved more into each other, he didn’t say anything.

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this fic comes from the song, "Goldfish" by Until the Ribbon Breaks, which I had on repeat while writing this. I highly recommend listening to this song - it's so Ian and Mickey's relationship over the seasons. This fic essentially started out as just a drabble about the christening scene, and I left it there. I totally decided to turn this into fillers for 4x11 when I decided to write this for a very special someone. Hope I did this justice and thanks for reading!
> 
> This is for Billie (stitchandrepair). Seriously one of the most talented writers I've ever come across - you would be remiss not to read the works by this amazing human being. :)


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